


the weight of air

by drink



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Flying, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drink/pseuds/drink
Summary: Young bird, you've lost your way, and you long for the ability to fly. If only you would spread your wings, you'd find that you can already soar to great heights.





	the weight of air

 

 

Two days after the abrupt emergence of a sinkhole engulfs an entire car mere steps from his parents’ front yard, Jeon Wonwoo watches a boy walk up to the edge of the wrecked asphalt and jump.

Wonwoo, though a child at the time, is old enough to quickly turn his head and cover his eyes in stunned trepidation, bracing himself for a sharp cry of pain, or perhaps worse the sound of breaking bones from the inevitable disaster to come.

Moments pass and slowly the breath Wonwoo had been holding forces its way out of his chest. He eases up on the tight squeeze clamping his eyelids shut, opening them millimetre by millimetre, one eye at a time, to peer out from between his fingers, through the cool pane of glass, and look out at the road not far ahead. His hips are already turned away from the windowsill, the angle preparing his feet, slipper-less and sock-less much to his mother’s chagrin, to run to the demilune table in the main hall, upon which sat the nearest telephone. The thing to do in the event of an emergency, Wonwoo knows, is to call 119.

But when he fully opens his eyes, he finds there’s no catastrophe at all.

What he sees is the boy still hovering above the pavement, having leapt into the air. Strangely, there did not seem to be a landing for his jump. As the boy tilts his head from one side to the other, the bangs covering his forehead shift this way then that, but his body does not shake, nor does it waver, floating steadily high above the street below his feet.

Then, just as Wonwoo rubs his eyes, the boy stops looking around him and dives sharply downward, headfirst, disappearing into the enormous pit in the ground.

 _Of course_ , Wonwoo thinks to himself, _people cannot fly. I must have been mistaken._

He readies himself to call for help again, but the boy rematerializes suddenly, holding an arm triumphantly above his head. The silver coating on the key gripped tightly in his fist gleams under the light from the sun sneaking past a low layer of cloud cover. The boy tilts his head back, pointing the jut of his throat up toward the sky, and rises higher.

Wonwoo, though a child, is old enough to know that it’s not a mirage when the boy arcs backward to perform a soaring backflip before hovering in the air again, grinning down at the object in his hand. He’s elevated far too high and for too long for it to be a figment of Wonwoo’s imagination.

“Wonwoo, Bohyuk, time for dinner!”

At the sound of the voice coming from the kitchen, Wonwoo turns around. He hollers back a, “I’ll be right there!”

When his gaze returns to the road, eyes searching for the airborne boy, the street is deserted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Over warm rice porridge the next morning, Wonwoo brings up the subject of the sinkhole at the breakfast table.

“Will they be able to fix it?”

For three days now, cars have been swerving around the tiny pylons poorly marking off the danger on the North side of the street, more than once leading to an irritated honk from the driver of the vehicle headed in the opposite direction, who has to swerve in turn to avoid the suddenly oncoming car. It seems simple enough to Wonwoo, who has dug his fair share of holes in the schoolyard sandbox, toiling for hours to make any real progress before they’re quickly filled in again by other children kicking in the dirt. The cement trucks they pass by in the city have chutes pointing out the back, and using one to pour tar into the hole should be easy enough.

“The useless municipal government,” Wonwoo’s father mutters, his face hidden from view by bold headlines printed on woodpulp paper in easily smudged ink. “Our street’s not busy enough for them to consider it a priority, but the longer that thing sits there, the longer it poses a safety hazard.”

“I spoke with the owner of the convenience store on the corner when I was buying milk yesterday. She said she made a call about it.” Wonwoo’s mother places a plate of orange slices on the table and then rests her hand on Wonwoo’s father’s shoulder. She gives his arm a placating squeeze and Wonwoo’s father puts down his newspaper to cover her hand with his larger one. “It should get filled in today.”

“Thanks honey,” Wonwoo’s father says, before placing a quick kiss on her cheek. It’s not entirely clear to Wonwoo what he’s thankful for, but judging by the soft smile on his mother’s face, the specifics probably don’t matter.

Her smile is quickly turned to Wonwoo, who pushes back his chair. She drops a kiss to the top of his head and holds him down in his seat. “Eat some fruit before you go,” she says. “You could do with some vitamin C. Who knows how many vegetables you manage to eat at school?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Although Wonwoo swears he’s never seen the boy at the sinkhole before, the boy appears in the schoolyard a month into the academic year and seems to know all of Wonwoo’s friends.

“Wonwoo, hurry up! You have to run in the last race or Junhui’s going to be declared fastest.” Someone curls an arm around Wonwoo’s neck, yanking him forward.

The boy who had been flying circles in the air outside Wonwoo’s house yesterday, Junhui, grins at him, fingers held up in a victory sign. There’s a boy on either side of him, their legs all in lunge positions with their feet behind the white starting line, somewhat obscured by tufts of grass that had grown in the cracks of the school track.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. He tosses his bag onto the field where his other friends are gathered to watch the finish line and jogs over to the last lane. It’s not entirely fair to run against someone who can spend however long they want levitating, but if the boy were cheating, surely his friends would have caught on? There’s no time to consider the possibility any further because someone’s counting down and then they’re off, sprinting to the finish line.

Around 50 metres from the end, two of the boys have fallen so far behind Wonwoo can’t hear their footsteps, but he can still spot Junhui in his peripheral vision, gliding along and breathing easy. Wonwoo forces himself to accelerate on intuition, some mixture of longer strides and faster cadence that propels him to the mark just ahead of the other boy.

Wonwoo doubles over, hands on his knees, breathing into the ground. A throng of bodies surround him, cheering to celebrate his win, and he straightens, grinning and high-fiving familiar faces. The crowd thins out slowly, kids collecting their bags to get ready to head inside for the start of class.

“You’re fast,” Junhui says, from the side, once everyone else is gone.

Wonwoo lifts his own backpack and looks up at him, offering an instantaneous lift on the corners of his lips before his expression returns to a neutral one.

“Wonwoo, right?” Junhui asks. “You’re really fast.” He’s looking at Wonwoo plainly, an inexplicably shiny glimmer in his eyes. His voice almost sounds amused.

“Thanks. You’re…?”

It’s not that Wonwoo doesn’t know the boy’s name. He’s heard it from his friends, after all, but he knows he doesn’t know this boy. He knows that he say him floating above the sinkhole yesterday. He’s a child still, but he knows none of this is normal.

“Junhui. Wen Junhui,” the boy says. His mouth forms an easy smile, one that lasts unlike the quick flash Wonwoo had given him, and the spread of his lips over his teeth sends a weird jolt down Wonwoo’s spine. Junhui’s grin is blinding, and the sparkle in his eyes like tiny pinpricks of light even more so.

A smile like that and it feels like Wonwoo’s known the boy his whole life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the first few weeks after Junhui’s arrival, Wonwoo avoids him. The wariness unsettling his stomach refuses to leave, no matter how many times Junhui’s bright smile renders him temporarily forgetful.

His friends, without any of Wonwoo’s concern, allow the boy to integrate into their circles easily, teaching him all their favourite games and sharing the best snacks. They visit each other’s houses after school, inviting Wonwoo to come along and play video games before their parents start yelling at them about homework.

More often than not, Wonwoo declines and heads to the library to borrow books about dragons, fairies, and angels. A keen interest in fantasy seems harmless enough until his mother looks at him questioningly when he takes out _Peter and Wendy_ for the twelfth time.

“Dear, are you still reading that book? Why don’t you take Bohyuk for a ride around the neighbourhood on your bikes? It’s warm enough out and there will still be enough light after dinner.”

Wonwoo’s father looks up from his beef stew and gives a nod of approval, though his mouth is firmly downturned. “All of the important roles in our country’s history have been played by scholars. It’s a good thing that the boy reads.”

His mother sighs. “I suppose so. But he’s still so young, he has time to socialize before he has to spend all his time studying for exams.”

They reach a vague sort of compromise. Over the summer break, Wonwoo takes his little brother out on regular outings, sometimes accompanied by their mother, sometimes on their own. In the evenings, Wonwoo devours an entire novel a day, staying up late and hiding from his parents by turning on the light only when he can tell that they’re asleep to read the final chapters.

In all that time, he doesn’t see Junhui doing a single aerial.

A rock, no matter how heavy it may be, once dislodged from its resting place at the bottom of a riverbed, can be carried by the force of moving water downstream. And eventually, some months after Wen Junhui suddenly appearing in Wonwoo’s life, he lets go of the sinkhole, the levitating, and suspicion in his eyes. Their interactions flow like a stream after that, Junhui slipping seamlessly into Wonwoo’s day-to-day life, and Wonwoo stops reading so many books about mythical creatures in fantasy worlds.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In first year of junior high, Wonwoo and Junhui are placed in the same homeroom class, and spend part of the year seated beside each other. With the exception of the class president, Junhui is almost always the first student to arrive, and almost always the first to greet Wonwoo when he slides the classroom door open every morning, voice chipper, eyes gleaming, smile wide. Even on days when he’s tired, Junhui waves sleepily at Wonwoo while his head remains lying on his desk.

Once Wonwoo’s seated, Junhui mutters, “I wish I slept more last night.” He stifles a yawn ineffectually.

“What were you doing instead?” Wonwoo asks, flicking a stray eraser nub at Junhui’s face. It bounces off his forehead and Junhui barely notices, swatting absently at the air in front of his face with his eyes closed.

“Helping my brother with his homework. Or at least, that’s what I _was_ doing before I remembered our literature essays were due today. And then I had to stay up all night writing that.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Then it’s your own fault. Don’t expect me to cover for you if you fall asleep during English. You know how strict Teacher Choi is.”

Junhui pouts at him, and Wonwoo’s chest twinges with sympathy. It’s hard not to pity those glittery eyes, and Wonwoo knows firsthand the amount of effort put into little brother stuff. Out of consideration for fairness and equality, Wonwoo kicks Junhui hard in the shin halfway through third period, just in time for Junhui to wake up and catch Teacher Choi calling on him to read a sentence from today’s grammar lesson.

Although he stumbles once with the pronunciation, Junhui gets through it to enough of the teacher’s satisfaction. When he sits back down, he shoots Wonwoo a grateful smile and Wonwoo, unable to resist, sneakily shoots back one of his own.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jeon Wonwoo is no hero. He doesn’t ask anyone to shuttle him bread, but that doesn’t mean he’s the sort to stop other people in the halls if he overhears someone demanding lunch pavement, especially if it’s someone he doesn’t know. Other than his shoulders, Wonwoo’s body is thin and lanky, not the kind you need to intimidate someone in a fight.

But the thing is, it happens right in front of him. He has his glasses on top of the partition so he can splash water on his face after gym class, and actually, the thing he really gets angry about is the fact that whoever it is that’s shoved someone into the sink outside nearly knocks over his glasses.

He turns off the taps and slides his glasses on, looking up to see one of the known school trouble makers holding Wen Junhui by the neck.

“What, you think because I’m uglier than you, you can get in my way in the bathroom? You think the mirrors are only for pretty people?”

Junhui’s airway is pinched shut so he can't answer even if he wants to.

“You can’t just rely on your face in this school, not when there’s no one to protect you now.”

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Do you mind…?”

The guy grabbing onto Junhui loosens his hold and makes an ugly noise in the back of his throat. “Annoying little ants crawling all over the place,” the guy mutters, throwing Junhui back and stalking off still grumbling.

“Thanks,” Junhui says hoarsely, rubbing at his throat.

Wonwoo sighs. He’s really not a hero. “I didn’t do that for you.”

Junhui darts his tongue out to wet his lips and shrugs. “Thanks anyway.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days there’s a cream bun sitting on Wonwoo’s desk whenever he gets there in the morning, and Junhui readily admits that it’s his doing.

“Now people are going to think I bully you,” Wonwoo says sulkily, tearing open the plastic wrapping and taking a huge bite.

“I notice you’re eating it anyway,” Junhui says dryly. “I’m just trying to show my gratitude.”

“Well don’t. Just stick up for yourself or something. I can’t believe you let someone just knock you around because they were jealous of your face. You can run fast, I’ve seen you.”

“He took me by surprise so there wasn’t any running away. But back up, does this mean you also think I have a nice face?” Junhui does some wiggly thing with his eyebrows. “Would you say that it’s an… _ace face_?”

Wonwoo groans and refrains from giving any verbal response, using the food in his mouth as an excuse for not being able to say anything.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, Wonwoo!”

The sudden sound of his name and appearance of a body beside him startles Wonwoo into a helpless yelp as he falls backward on his butt from his crouched position near the bottom shelf.

“Shh!”

He looks up to see Junhui holding a finger over his lips and lets out a loud huff.

“We’re in a library,” Junhui whispers, “you shouldn’t yell.”

“You shouldn’t scare me like that then,” Wonwoo hisses back with narrowed eyes. “What are you even doing here?”

Junhui glances down at the stack of books in his arms and then stares at Wonwoo, deadpan. “Like I said,” he whispers, “we’re in a library.”

Wonwoo thinks of going to the library as a pretty solitary activity. There were some students who liked to make a big deal of going in groups to study together, but Wonwoo didn't need nor want someone else’s opinion when he selected his books. Plus, he didn’t see how studying with a friend could be anything other than distracting. You were supposed to be quiet in a library, Junhui was right about that, and if you don’t talk to your companion, what good is it to have someone accompany you at all?

Despite all that, Wonwoo leads Junhui to his favourite comfy armchairs in the back of the sci-fi section.

In first year of junior high they had seen each other first thing every morning. Now, in third year, their situation is flipped. Although they’re no longer in the same homeroom class, Junhui is the last person Wonwoo sees before heading home.

The two of them sit with their chairs back-to-back, sometimes reading a new novel they’ve picked up, or scrawling through workbooks to complete their daily assignments. As far as everything they do, it’s still a solitary thing. Wonwoo reads his books, Junhui reads Junhui’s. And neither of them chat about homework, simply filling in the necessary answers on their own. But they do these tasks in the presence of each other, and that makes it hard to tell whether it’s solitary at all.

“You should invite your friend over for dinner sometime,” Wonwoo’s mother says one day, after he gets in the car. She picks him up every evening, and embarrassingly waves at Junhui when they drive past him walking home from the library. “I think the last time you had friends over was for your tenth birthday party. It’s been six years! I’m glad you’re socializing more.”

Wonwoo doesn’t tell his mother that the time he spends with Junhui is usually passed without a word spoken.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Only after several weeks of his mother’s nagging does Wonwoo finally bring up the subject of dinner with Junhui.

“Do you think your parents will mind?” Wonwoo asks. “My mom is really keen on the idea of inviting you over for some reason.”

“Woo! Party at Wonwoo’s house,” Junhui cheers.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and hip checks Junhui onto the street. “It’s not a party.”

Junhui doesn’t seem to mind, taking a few steps on the road before returning to the safety of the sidewalk and slinging an arm around Wonwoo’s neck. The feel of it around him is light and warm, as if weighing nothing. “Fine, I’ll come over even if it’ll be boring.”

Wonwoo hip checks Junhui again, but this time Junhui can’t go anywhere, not with Wonwoo’s arm around his waist.

“Hey, Wonwoo, do you know what the worst thing about having a party in space would be?”

“This better not be one of your horrible jokes again, Junhui.”

“I promise this one is really good!”

Even though he knows that the joke will be terrible, Wonwoo sighs and humours him with a, “No, Junhui, I don’t know. What would be the worst thing about a space party?”

Junhui starts giggling before he’s delivered the punchline. “Ha! You’d have to _planet_.” He turns sideways and laughs into Wonwoo’s shoulder, a soft trickle of air from his nose tickling the delicate skin at Wonwoo’s neck. “Do you get it? You have to _plan it_. Planet!”

It’s a horrible terrible stupid joke, but Junhui can’t stop laughing at it, and Wonwoo can’t help but join him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wonwoo isn’t embarrassed of his mother, but she does do a good job of embarrassing him.

The first thing she does as soon as he walks into the house is envelop him in a tight hug and press dozens of kisses to his face, like Wonwoo’s a child again. He groans and wiggles uselessly against her arms, trying to escape her grip and also the hallway, certain that his face is flushed red.

Junhui stands awkwardly behind him, and bows to Wonwoo’s mother after she finally releases Wonwoo from her clutches. He greets her, introduces himself, and then without any warning, gets pulled into Wonwoo’s mother’s embrace as well, although she luckily holds back on the kissing.

“A good friend of our son’s is practically a son of our own,” she says, as if that makes any sense, and then ushers the two of them into the dining room.

Junhui bows deeply again, this time to Wonwoo’s father, and then waves at Bohyuk, having met him at school before.

Wonwoo sends Junhui surreptitious glances, anxious that his family keeps sharing ridiculous stories from Wonwoo’s childhood, like about the time they’d gone to the local zoo and Wonwoo had been scared into unending sobs by the ram that butted into the fence right in front of him. He warned them to tone things down in front of a guest, but at this rate he was going to lose one of his only friends.

Except Junhui doesn’t look at all alarmed. He looks amused, and at one point he catches one of Wonwoo’s looks and sends him an encouraging kind of smile, like instead of being put off he’s actually entertained by the experience. And, well, he doesn’t protest when Wonwoo’s mother piles chunks of pork on top of Junhui’s rice with her own chopsticks, nor does he seem bothered by her deboning a piece of fish with her bare hands.

Wonwoo, who hasn’t touched the fish, suddenly wonders if Junhui has any foods he doesn’t like to eat, and if he should have asked before letting his mom cook all this food. Maybe she was feeding him stuff he hated and he’d go home and feel nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Junhui whispers, when Wonwoo’s parents get distracted talking to each other.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies quickly. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Junhui raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything more since his attention is drawn away by Wonwoo’s mother starting another topic of conversation.

“You spend so much time at the library, just like Wonwoo, do you enjoy reading?”

“Yeah,” Junhui says, “but I can’t read nearly as fast as him. He’s fast at running _and_ fast at reading.” He laughs, and Wonwoo can tell that his mother is utterly charmed by Junhui’s sparkling eyes.

“Do you have a favourite book?”

“Hm…I really like _Peter and Wendy_ the novel about Peter Pan,” Junhui says.

Charmed as his mother may be, Wonwoo’s father is a little harder to impress. “Is that not a children’s novel?”

He probably didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but Wonwoo winces. Junhui considers the question for a moment, and answers, “I don’t know if I really understood it when I was a child. I thought it was all about an adventure but now that I read it when I’m older, it’s a bit deeper than that.”

Wonwoo’s mother helpfully points out that it was a book Wonwoo enjoyed reading in grade school as well, and that seems to soften his father.

Junhui turns to him with an unreadable expression. “Really? I always see Wonwoo in the science fiction section, so I didn’t know he liked fantasy.”

After the meal and some more light chatter, Junhui stands and excuses himself, thanking Wonwoo’s parents with two deep bows and a wide smile.

“I’ll see you out,” Wonwoo says thickly, hurrying after him down the hall.

Wonwoo stands with his hands behind his back while Junhui ties the laces of his sneakers, fingers twisting around each other over and over again. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually, once Junhui stands.

“For what?”

“My parents were a bit much, weren’t they…?”

Junhui tilts his head. “Your parents are lovely. They obviously care about you a lot. And I think you really love them too.”

“But—”

“—Thanks for inviting me, Wonwoo.” Junhui smiles, and Wonwoo forgets all of his concerns.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps after a year or two of elementary school and all of junior high, the memory of a boy leaping over a sinkhole and staying stuck at the peak of his jump should have escaped Wonwoo’s recollection. Perhaps it had all been a fever dream, an extension of his over-active imagination from a childhood reading too many fictional stories. Perhaps his childhood self had made up a magical origin story for Junhui to explain why Wonwoo seemed so conscious of him.

Perhaps.

The light from the setting sun casts a long shadow on Wonwoo’s figure walking home from cram school. The fall semester of his first year in high school is in full swing, the days long and filled with endless mock exams to simulate the preparations for university entrance. He’s lucky, actually, that today’s tutorials ended before night settled in, and he knew of older students who wouldn’t get home until midnight because they spent so much time taking lessons or on free study.

Wonwoo drags his tired feet through the park that cuts between the cram school and his parent’s house, and at first, he thinks it’s the fading orange sunlight that plays a trick on his eyes.

But then he looks to his left again, and there, like all those years ago, is a boy hovering way up in the air, arms outstretched.

Wonwoo watches as Junhui plucks a giant ball of fur from the end of a sagging tree branch before lowering himself back to the ground, still holding Mrs. Kim’s Maine Coon cat in his arms. He takes off at a run, turning left at the fork away from his house, sprinting toward Junhui and the cat at full speed, and forgets to put the brakes on until he collides into Junhui’s back.

“Wonwoo?” Junhui asks, turning to see him out of breath. “What was that for?” He laughs.

The cat in Junhui’s arms gazes piercingly at Wonwoo’s hunched over and panting form, and Junhui seems to notice her distress. He gives her head a good pat before lowering the humongous thing to the ground. As soon as her little paws touch the unpaved dirt, she streaks off into the nearest bushes, leaving Junhui clucking his tongue after her and shouting, “Stop running places where you shouldn’t and getting stuck!”

He’s not even denying it.

“I know what you can do,” Wonwoo says. “I saw.”

“What?” Junhui asks. “You mean this?” And he springs up, only a bit off the path, and pretends to swim in the air with a laugh.

After several seconds of Wonwoo’s gaping, Junhui comes back down to his feet.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Teach me how you do it. Teach me how to _fly_ ,” Wonwoo demands.

Junhui doesn’t take his eyes off his little brother, who they can see through his bedroom window, scratching away at his homework with a look of immense frustration on his face. It translates to a weird expression on Junhui's own.

They’re standing in Junhui’s backyard, and Wonwoo had been waiting all week for Saturday to finally arrive, for him to be free of class and chores and studying to make Junhui explain everything to him. Yes, Junhui thought highly of his own looks, but surely he wasn’t narcissistic enough to say his favourite book was about him, right? There was no way Wonwoo would believe that Wen Junhui was secretly Peter Pan in disguise.

“Can your brother do it too?”

Junhui finally looks at Wonwoo and shrugs. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone else do it.”

Wonwoo frowns. “Okay, well, teach me. I want to fly too.”

“I don’t know how to…” Junhui draws his lips together and takes off into the air, his feet around the same level as Wonwoo’s knees. He dips his right shoulder down and glides sideways before leaning in the other direction and completing a circle around Wonwoo. “I think you just jump,” Junhui says, landing lightly on his toes.

“I’ve jumped loads of times in my life and never stayed up as long as you.”

Junhui makes a weird shape with his mouth again and blinks at Wonwoo. “Erm…maybe holding your breath will help?”

Wonwoo can practically see the question marks in Junhui’s eyes, his confusion replacing the usual shininess there. There’s nothing for it, he takes a breath, holds it, and jumps. The force of his landing rockets through his shins and his knees, brutally reminding him that humans really shouldn’t be able to fly.

“I think…” Junhui bites his lip. “I think you just need to be able to separate from this world, does that make sense? Like right now, you’re too anchored to it.”

“How?” Wonwoo waves his arms. “Whatever’s on me is exactly the same thing as whatever’s on you. I don’t have anything on but clothes. What’s anchoring me down, exactly?”

  
“Metaphorical chains tying you to the earth.”

“Uh…like what?”

Junhui shrugs. “Your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo scoffs. “You have parents too.”

“Okay, but like… Never mind. I guess…Just keep practicing jumping or something, I don’t know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

With the amount of time Wonwoo spends practicing his jumps on a daily basis, he garners a vertical that ranks first in the entire school. That, however, doesn’t get him any closer to the staying elevated in mid-air thing Junhui’s really good at. When he jumps, he’s still at the mercy of gravity, and no matter how much force he uses, no matter how high he gets, or how long he can hold his knees to his chest, all Wonwoo can manage is to delay his eventual descent.

It’s been two weeks, two weeks of Wonwoo hopping around like an energetic bunny while Junhui watches, sometimes hovering in the air, sometimes sitting on the ground, sometimes standing behind Wonwoo and trying to give him a boost.

“It’s gotten pretty dark,” Junhui mutters through a yawn. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home?”

“It’s still not working!” Wonwoo shouts, unable to hide his frustration. “I don’t get it, why can’t I do it?”

Junhui looks at him blankly, eyelids halfway over his eyes and covering their sparkle. “I’m telling you, you’re weighted down to the earth.”

“Well, how do I un-anchor? I’m not going to run away from home, and your parents are right there.”

Junhui sighs, then holds out his hand. “Here,” he says.

“What?”

Junhui looks pointedly at his own hand, and throws open his palm a second time.

Wonwoo takes Junhui’s hand, grips tight, and it’s a good thing because he’s suddenly pulled into the air with him, levitating above Junhui’s mother’s vegetable garden under the light reflected by the moon.

“Yay,” Junhui deadpans. “You did it. How does it feel?”

Wonwoo can’t reply. He can’t craft a scathing retort at Junhui’s irreverent attitude, nor can he describe how he feels with words. It’s not a human sensation, the light floaty feeling occupying him. Something about the whole thing brings about an illicit sort of excitement, and together with these sense that his body weighs less than air, Wonwoo’s too breathless to speak. It’s incredible, indescribable, impossible.

He can only squeeze Junhui’s hand, fingers wrapped around his tightly.

Junhui seems to take the squeeze as a go signal.

Without much warning, they drift higher up into the sky, up and up, Wonwoo sensing the gradual chill on his skin. He looks down past his toes at the shrinking trees and houses below, hypnotized by the implausibility of their journey. He can’t feel his shoulders but he can feel his heart beating and it’s thumping so fast Wonwoo thinks it might explode out of his rib cage.

He’s flying?

He’s _flying_.

Junhui leans forward and they’re gliding East, speeding past the park and overhead of the high school. Wonwoo can feel the rush of air past his ears, over the hairs on his arm. The rollercoasters at the amusement park felt kind of like this, or the ferris wheel at the very top of its rotation. Weightlessness, a rush, the changing scenery below. Wonwoo’s brain can only think of the word surreal, and he repeats it to himself over and over.

“Wonwoo?”

He looks at Junhui, and Junhui grins at whatever expression he sees on Wonwoo’s face. It’s that smile that can make you forget about the rest of the world, and somehow Junhui’s eyes shimmer more under moonlight than sunlight. Junhui takes them in a circle, carefully points out Wonwoo’s house when they fly over it and then lands gently back in his backyard.

The whole of Wonwoo’s body is shaking. A little of it is remnants from the cold, but more of it is from sheer exhilaration. Every molecule in his body vibrates, thrumming with life, and his breathing comes in extended gasps.

Wonwoo stares at Junhui, unable to say a word. He’s lost in the twinkling stars.

“Well, how was it?”

“What?”

“How was flying?” Junhui repeats, a bubbly laugh falling from his lips.

Wonwoo exhales once. He exhales again. “Beautiful.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re spending a lot of time holed up in your room these days, Wonwoo,” says his mother. “We know you want to study to do well, but you know there’s no pressure from us, right? Your dad and I want to see you happy and healthy, not just doing well in school.”

“I know mom,” Wonwoo tells her. “But I have to spend my time in high school wisely.”

These nights he barely sleeps, spending all his hours poured over his textbooks, practicing rote memorization of dozens of classic poems, and solving calculus problems without hesitation. He has to. He has to prioritize schoolwork so that he can secure Saturday nights free.

Saturday nights are for flying.

Wonwoo would feel bad for making Junhui take him on the weekly flights if Junhui didn’t so obviously get a kick out of the trips himself, showing off by diving between clouds and twisting them in barrel turns and loop-the-loops before arriving at whatever destination he wants. The first time, Junhui had taken them as far as the beach, and they’d sat in their jeans on the sandy shore, listening to the sound of crashing waves and watching the moon slide across the night sky, its reflection in the water fluttering with the tide.

Once, because Junhui reckons himself a bit of a joker, Junhui sneaks them over the gates of the zoo, only to find that most of the animals were asleep or housed indoors, and that he was unable to recreate the ram scene from Wonwoo’s youth.

Junhui might have thought the places they went were fun, but Wonwoo’s greatest thrill comes from the travelling itself, soaring through the skies. He’s addicted to the feeling of weightlessness now, and their weekly voyages are the only thing he looks forward to day in, day out.

“I have to spend my time wisely,” Wonwoo says again, not really looking at his mother, “so I can get the best out of life.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’d think since you have me chauffeuring you around everywhere, you’d have given up on this whole do it yourself thing.” Junhui ho-hums, resting his chin on one palm.

“It’s nice but I still wanna be able to do it without you practically carrying me. Besides, the added benefit is that it trains my legs. Coach Lim signed me up for the regional track meet, you know. He thinks I can win best high jump in the city.”

Junhui rolls his eyes and switches the hand he’s resting his head on. “I know. You’ve mentioned once, twice…maybe several dozen times.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Wonwoo scoffs. “Anyway, you’re going to come watch, right?”

“Isn’t it during class time?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Skip. You’ve got a clean record, you can probably fake being sick or something, and the teachers will buy it.”

“Alright, say I play hooky for you…how am I going to get to the stadium? Are you planning on paying for my taxi fare?”

“Fly.”

“Ah yes, because people won’t be weirded out if they see a person flying. Very good idea, Wonwoo, how silly of me not to have thought of it first.”

“As long as you know you’re stupid,” Wonwoo says smugly.

Junhui elbows him in the stomach. “You can’t really think that’s a good idea. Look, you can just win the gold medal and bring it back and show me when you’re home. Isn’t that easier?”

Wonwoo pouts. “But Junhui, I want you to come watch me win!”

Junhui’s gaze softens. “Trust me. If I could, I would.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Near the end of their second year of high school, their homeroom teacher holds private meetings with each student to discuss their university plans. Well, these future plans meetings have been happening for months now, each time the topic slightly different, but all circling around that scary murkiness labelled by the word ‘future’.

“Your track and field awards add a lot to your specs, and can show schools that you’re a well-rounded student. SKY will depend on your entrance examination results, but a university in Seoul is definitely doable for you, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo looks at Teacher Jang dumbly. “University in Seoul? But the money…”

“Scholarships for athletes are fairly common. It might be harder to win something at SKY but I definitely think you can plan for a big city school. You’re definitely doing well enough to earn it. Keep it up.”

He returns to the classroom still in a daze, completely unable to focus his eyes. He doesn’t notice the box of chocolates sitting on his desk until he accidentally smashes his hand over it and has to withdraw from the pain in his palm.

“Oh…is it Valentine’s Day?”Junhui’s eyes flicker up from his book, look to Wonwoo, then down at the chocolates on his desk, then back to Wonwoo. He shrugs and returns to reading his book.

“Junhui-ya, you’ve been sitting here the whole time right? Did you see who left these?”

Junhui shrugs again before flipping a page. “Some girl.”

Wonwoo blinks. “…Which…girl…?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes scan down the page far too quickly for him to really be processing whatever it is he’s reading. Maybe he’s skimming? “She had shoulder length hair.”

There are several gaggles of boys and girls in the classroom, most hovering around a desk chit-chatting. No one makes eye contact with Wonwoo when he looks at each group, clocking at least one or two girls with shoulder length hair in each clique. “…Which…girl…with…shoulder length hair…?”

Without much more than a cursory look over of the classroom around them, Junhui replies, “One of them. I don’t know.”

“Fine. Do you want a chocolate?” Wonwoo offers the open box with a sigh.

“No. Can’t you let me read in peace?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their trips slip from once a week to once every two weekends, and then to once a month.

They’re finishing their last year in high school and as such Junhui prepares diligently for the college entrance exams. His class rank rises steadily while others lament over the amount of work and stress involved in their final year of high school.

“I can’t rely on my face in this world and I can’t rely on my flying. I have to study, Wonwoo-ya, or else I won’t be able to do anything with my life,” he explains, and Wonwoo can only nod understandingly.

He himself doubles down on university preparations, living from cup of coffee to cup of coffee, and setting alarms ten minutes apart to take quick micro-naps between cramming, cramming, and cramming. Wonwoo develops a four-fingered way of holding his chopsticks during mealtimes to avoid messing with the sturdy callus developing on the middle finger of his right hand from so many hours holding a pen or pencil and writing hundreds of characters a day. But understandable doesn’t mean Wonwoo takes the proceedings positively. He misses flying, he misses the adventures they had, and mostly, he misses Junhui.

Whenever Wonwoo sees Junhui in class these days, it’s a studious version of him, nose buried in one book or another. He can’t remember the last time in school that Junhui shot him his signature dazzling grin, or the last time he had seen the lustre in Junhui’s eyes. They seem dull now and the weight of them when Wonwoo meets Junhui’s gaze feels unexpectedly heavy.

On the rare occasions that Junhui takes Wonwoo’s hand and guides them into the night sky for an airborne adventure, however, the joyful sparkling Junhui returns, albeit briefly. He sings to Wonwoo on their way to the city centre, where they sit on a rooftop, legs dangling over the ledge. Wonwoo is unafraid. Junhui holds his hand firmly, so even if he were to slip and fall over, Junhui could just fly them right back up here, and they could swing their legs again, looking at the tiny pinpricks from the streetlamps down below. Even on the rooftop Junhui is still humming, sometimes tunes Wonwoo recognizes, sometimes monotonously, and the sound has a conditioning effect on Wonwoo, who starts to associate a weightless feeling in his stomach with the sound of Junhui’s voice alone.

“After the exam,” Wonwoo says, “we won’t be as bothered by our studies, right? There’s a few months before graduation. We can have fun then, right? And go all over the place. Right, Junhui?”

Junhui doesn’t say anything. He squeezes Wonwoo’s hand and flies them back home, a gentle smile on his face, small and soft like it's scared and unfamiliar. The sparkle in his his eyes slowly returns to life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Junhui?”

“What?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

“What?”

Wonwoo sighs and relents. “Sojin said she wants to go with me to the school festival. And she said Syening would want to go with you.”

“Okay?” Wonwoo prods at Junhui’s leg with one foot. “That’s all you have to say? We’ve got _dates_.”

Junhui stops staring down into whatever he’s working on, sets his pen aside, and closes his notebook slowly. He takes a deep breath, then turns to Wonwoo with a feigned kind of smile. It looks all wrong on his face, his eyes appearing angry instead of rapturous, his teeth closed together so hard it almost seems a grimace. “You’ll have to apologize on my behalf since I’m not interested.”

For a moment Wonwoo thinks that it’s a joke. But Junhui doesn’t laugh and slowly it dawns on him. “Wait…really? Are you serious, Junhui? Why not?”

“Mind your own business,” Junhui snaps. He jumps to his feet, barely stopping himself before getting too high, like he’s forgotten he can’t just fly away in the middle of the school day. It’s weird, it’s like Junhui wants to fly as a means of escape, but Wonwoo can’t fathom what he’s running away from. Wonwoo’s still trying to figure it out when Junhui stomps off, sliding the classroom door shut behind him with a loud slam, rocking the wood in its hinges.

“Junhui, wait—”

Wonwoo’s a step or two behind but he’s always been faster than Junhui and he catches up to him by the end of the hallway, grabbing onto Junhui’s elbow to stop him.

“Wonwoo, let go!” Junhui shouts, ripping his arm away.

“No! Explain to me what exactly I did wrong for you to be this mad at me. You were excited about the festival even yesterday, so don’t go biting my head off!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I _was_ excited yesterday because I thought I was going with you! But apparently you had other ideas so forgive me if I’ve lost my interest and please leave me alone.”

“You stupid imbecile, if you wanted to go together you should have just said so!”

“ _You_ stupid imbecile, I thought you already knew!”

The sudden clack of a wooden pointer against the wall freezes both of them in their tracks, although they dod eventually turn at the sound of the vice-principal’s voice silkily asking them, “Now now, what’s going on here…Are we having a fight?”

“Uh, nope, we were making up actually!” Wonwoo yelps quickly, then hurries to grab Junhui by the wrist and drag him back inside the classroom lest they get handed demerit points over an utterly trivial misunderstanding.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wonwoo thinks going through the haunted house first is a good idea because there’ll be a line-up outside by lunch, and if they do it before he gouges on snacks, he won’t have to feel any nausea at the gross stuff the second years have placed around their classroom. He’s not worried about the hidden monsters because it’s just people in masks, but some of the goo they use seems incredibly unhygienic.

In fact, he lasts through each of the ‘ghosts’, the fake spiders being thrown at them, and even slipping on a rubber rat without really fearing any of it, but then, right near the end with the bloody cracked mirrors, Junhui sticks a finger into his lower back and Wonwoo lets out a high pitched shriek, loud enough to set off a whole chain reaction of screams inside the room, each of the other visitors to the haunted house thinking something terrible at happened. Junhui’s standing at the exit laughing silently while Wonwoo glares at him, and even though Wonwoo jabs and pinches at Junhui’s arm painfully, there’s no repentance for a cheap jump scare.

Luckily, Wonwoo gets him back at the nail salon, where he slips the manicurist extra money to write ‘Wonwoo rocks’ on Junhui’s nails in black polish, and Junhui doesn’t notice until after his nails are dried. He doesn’t seem that bothered though, because he keeps looking down at his fingers with an amused sort of look and it bugs Wonwoo that he hasn’t procured real revenge.

For lunch they buy fishcake skewers at the vendors in the yard, and then Junhui feeds Wonwoo some of his spicy ricecakes and Wonwoo offers Junhui some of his hot sweet pancake in return.

In the afternoon they laze about in the game room, alternating between rounds on the video game console, cards, and even a chess match, or watching others play and rant their frustration at the digitized characters on the television screen. There’s a strange sense of ease that the third years haven’t felt in a long time, although the younger students are probably just as worried as they were before, not experiencing the post-exam relief they were finally granted after years of nothing but schoolwork.

They leave mid-late afternoon, but this close to the winter solstice, the sun is already beginning to set. Just as they pass the school gates, Wonwoo slips his fingers out of the warmth of his jacket sleeve and finds Junhui’s hand, cool from being exposed to the weather. He laces their fingers together, and that familiar weightless feeling slips up his arm and into his belly, even though both their steps are rooted firmly to the ground.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

“Better without the dates you almost forced on us,” Junhui says, shivering at the thought rather than the cold.

Wonwoo coughs out a wheezing sort of laugh.

“You know, in all the cartoons, they usually have a kissing booth at the school festival. I’m kind of sad we didn’t.”

“You’re sad we didn’t have a kissing booth? Were you looking forward to kissing someone or something?”

“Yeah,” Junhui says with a cheeky little snicker. He takes a glance at Wonwoo and notices his put out expression. “Duh, I was looking forward to kissing you.”

It’s suddenly way too warm in Wonwoo’s thick winter coat and he ducks his head in an attempt to keep down the flush rising in his cheeks. “You don’t need a kissing booth to that,” Wonwoo mutters, blushing furiously. Seriously, if you took off his boots and socks now, you would see even his toes are red.

“Really?” Junhui asks.

“Yes,” Wonwoo says, eking the word out in an embarrassed warble.

Junhui pulls on Wonwoo’s hand, slowing them to a halt and then tugs on Wonwoo’s hand again so that they’re facing each other. With almost no space between them, Wonwoo can see the individual pieces of glitter in Junhui’s eyes and count the moles on his cheeks. Not long after that he can feel the gentle movement of air from Junhui’s nose and Wonwoo slides his eyes closed only a moment before Junhui’s lips are on his, warm and soft and raising him up higher and higher. Though his feet are on the ground, his head feels up in the clouds.

“Do that again,” Wonwoo whispers as soon as Junhui’s mouth separates from his.

So Junhui does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re almost there and I _still_ can’t believe our son’s going to attend university in the capital,” says Wonwoo’s mother, turning around in the passenger seat to look back at her son. “Isn’t this so exciting? You’re going to meet so many new people and get to try so many new things.”

“Mm…” Wonwoo agrees comfortably. “Right.”

“Are any of your classmates going to be in Seoul?”

Wonwoo thinks about his classmates.

He thinks about one, in particular, wonders how Junhui’s doing at the university in their home city. It’s a good school. Wonwoo could have gone to it and done well, probably. Instead, he’s going to be 300 kilometres away, where the only contact they can have during the school year is video calls until summer break.

Thinking about Junhui reminds Wonwoo of the last time they saw each other before Wonwoo pushed the last of his moving boxes into the van and left.

“You want to go flying, right?” Junhui had asked, not really waiting for an answer. The night had been cold, not unexpectedly for February, and Wonwoo thought they were going to fly somewhere really far but Junhui landed them in the park where Wonwoo watched him save a cat from a tree and they sat on a bench and Junhui said almost nothing but wouldn’t stop hugging him. Wonwoo was pretty sure he couldn’t talk because he was crying. And Wonwoo hadn’t cried but it had been a close thing.

“See? I really should have learned to fly by myself. What good is a high jump scholarship if I can’t actually stay in the air?” Wonwoo tried to joke, holding onto Junhui’s back for dear life.

“This means you have to come back. You have to come back to me if you want to fly again,” Junhui had said, like a threat he didn’t mean.

“Wonwoo?” His mother’s voice knocks him out of the memory.

“Hm? Oh… I think the class president got into KAIST…but no one else in Kyunghee. No one else in Seoul, that I can think of.”

His father hums and then signals to merge lanes off the highway. “Well, you’ll make new friends, I’m sure.”

That’s true. Wonwoo could make lots of new friends. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t anchored back home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he returns over the summer, nothing has changed but everything is different. Junhui’s grown his hair out a bit, long enough to tie back in a tiny ponytail at the top of his neck. Wonwoo sits and flicks Junhui’s hair up and down while they swap stories about their classes and classmates.

“I missed you,” Junhui says at last, after exhausting his list of trivial topics that didn’t really matter. “I missed you so much.”

Wonwoo tries to say “me too”, he really does, but he can’t get his throat to make the right sounds as choked up as he is. He swallows and lets Junhui bury his face against his neck momentarily, before cupping his jaw and brushing his thumb along the bony part of Junhui’s cheek. Wonwoo looks at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of Junhui’s sparkling eyes, memorizing the height of his nose so he never ever forgets the way he looks. Then, after an agonizing wait, Wonwoo tilts Junhui’s chin up and kisses him.

His heart grows wings and nearly flies out of his throat when Junhui parts his mouth and slides his tongue against Wonwoo’s, and there’s an ache in his entire torso that feels like he’s about to sprout feathers all over his shoulder blades. It’s impossible, Wonwoo can’t keep his stomach from going topsy-turvy on him, one barrel roll after the other.

“Do you want to go flying?” Wonwoo asks.

Junhui shakes his head. “No. Right now I want to do this.” He leans in and sucks gently on Wonwoo’s lower lip.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fall semester, like spring, crawls by at a snail’s pace. No, that’s insulting to snails. Snails and turtles and sloths all moved faster than the clock during Wonwoo’s university classes. Each week, though only seven days, stretches seemingly longer, like he’s spent twice that time between Saturdays. And it’s usually only Saturday nights that he and Junhui call each other, “because we’ll get busy, and if we try to schedule things more frequently then we’ll start thinking of each other as burdens. I don’t want that.”

Damn Junhui and his stupidly good logic.

Unlike his classmates, who dread the onslaught of finals, Wonwoo welcomes them eagerly, nearly always the first to hand in his test paper. Even on move out day, he’s the first on his floor to be packed up and ready to leave, waiting out on the front lawn of his dorm building for his parents long before they’re due to arrive.

In the car, he covers his thighs with his backpack to hide the jittery shake in his legs, and then when they finally reach home, Wonwoo leaps up the stairs and bolts inside, standing by the demilune table in the main hallway and staring down at the telephone, wondering if he’s _too_ eager to see Junhui. Well, he is, but the question is whether or not he should hide it.

Wonwoo’s father calls him to help unload the boxes from the car, and he forgets about calling until dinner, which he wolfs down.

“Sit back down, I’ll go cut some pears. You need the vitamin C, don’t think your mother doesn’t know that you skip vegetables for instant noodles, young man.”

Wonwoo diligently eats his mother’s pears, and then darts another look down the hall.

“Oh go on then,” his mother says. “Invite Junhui over. I’m sure he’s dying to see you as much as you are to see him.”

He doesn’t ask how she knows. He doesn’t even run off to the phone in the hallway. Wonwoo picks up his cellphone from his pocket and sends a message to Junhui by text, the message to ‘come over’ still bright on Junhui’s phone screen when he shows up at the door, panting, but with a huge smile plastered over his face.

“I don’t think I can survive like this,” Junhui says, as soon as the door to Wonwoo’s room is closed behind them.

“I think I’m going to have to transfer universities. Here, or to Pusan at least,” Wonwoo agrees.

Junhui tackles Wonwoo to the bed, arms tight around Wonwoo’s rib cage, and Wonwoo hugs back without a moment’s hesitation.

“But you know, I always wondered, if you really wanted to see me, why you never just flew all the way to Seoul.”

“All the way from here to Seoul?! I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t even fly us past the park the last time I was back,” Wonwoo teases. “Are you sure you can even still fly anymore?”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s hugging an armful of air, as Junhui’s scrambling backward on his knees, a panicked look on his face.

“I’m sorry. Wonwoo, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I was scared, and, I don’t know, I just, I remember I said you had to come back so we could fly together but if I can’t fly do you even want to be with me, it’s, I mean—”

“Junhui!”

Junhui pauses long enough to finally take a breath. “Y-yes?”

“Slow down. Why would I not want to be with you?”

The reply takes a while to come. Junhui stares at Wonwoo with fear in his eyes and Wonwoo stares at the fear dotting the glitter normally sparkling from Junhui’s eyes with a growing fear of his own. Was this it for them? Was the distance too much?

“I’m…anchored…” Junhui says eventually, dissipating Wonwoo’s concerns immediately. Junhui had that affect on him. “I don’t… I can barely stay off the ground for a minute or two anymore.” He looks away, avoiding Wonwoo’s anxious expression.

Wonwoo isn’t having any of it. He straddles Junhui’s lap and places a hand on either side of his face, turning Junhui’s head so they can look at each other. “You think I’m going to leave you because of that?”

Junhui tries to turn his head away once more but Wonwoo’s spent all school year unable to see Junhui’s shining eyes, he isn’t about to waste time that he could be spending stargazing into them.

Wonwoo leans forward boldly and looks straight at the sparkles. “Junhui…when you say anchored…when you said I was anchored because of my parents. What you meant…what you mean is that I couldn’t fly because there were people on earth I love. Isn’t it? Isn’t what you’re saying that you can’t fly anymore…because you love me?”

Junhui plants his face in Wonwoo’s chest and says something that sounds like, “Mm mmff mf mmmff.”

“Say that again, in a way that I can understand exactly what you mean.” Wonwoo commands gently, lifting Junhui’s head.

Junhui sighs. “I guess that’s right…”

“What was that?” Wonwoo asks, grinning. “What part of what I said was right?”

He’s milking it, he knows, but Junhui indulges him anyway. “Yes, Wonwoo, I love you…”

“Good,” Wonwoo says quickly. “Because I love you too, Junhui.”

Wonwoo kisses him. The wind is knocked out of him from that press of lips, he’s left breathless and speechless and his stomach weightless. He knows what this feeling is. Wonwoo kisses Junhui again.

He’s _flying_.

 

 

 


End file.
